Gunslinger

by Jeff Pearlman

  “If you’re in a playoff game you know what the stakes are . . . what you’ve put into getting here, and you’re not like, ‘I’m not gonna knock this guy out because I care about him.’ No, you want to intimidate the fuck out of him. Because I want him to be scared, so I have a better chance to win so I can win the Super Bowl and get my $50,000 bonus. You’re not thinking about someone’s well-being. You’re doing whatever it takes.”

  Favre initially avoided talking about the scandal. He finally sat down for an interview with the NFL Network, and said he was neither upset nor haunted. Football, Favre said, is a rough and ugly game, played by rough and ugly people. “My feeling, and I mean this wholeheartedly, is I don’t care,” he later told ESPN. “What bothers me is we didn’t win the game. They didn’t take me out of the game. They came close . . . [but] I’m not gonna sit the last three minutes. I’m gonna go out there with bones sticking out of my skin and finish it.”

  And that should have been that. Brett Favre played valiantly, took a beating, and lost. He made an ill-advised throw, but part of his charm was the ill-advised throws. You don’t become a gunslinger by dumping passes off to halfbacks. You take shots, and sometimes they don’t work.

  “He had nothing to be ashamed of,” said Childress. “Without Brett, there’s no way we go that far.”

  So, again, that should have been that. And, truly, that was that. For the first time, Favre was genuinely committed to retirement. Deanna was encouraging it. So were his other Mississippi family members. Hell, on April 2, 2010, he became a grandfather when Brittany, now 21, gave birth to a seven-pound, seven-ounce boy named Parker Brett. There were things other than football in life, and Favre, nearing his 41st birthday, was prepared to move forward.

  But then—dammit—the begging commenced. On August 16 three veteran Vikings (Jared Allen, Steve Hutchinson, and Ryan Longwell) were flown by the organization to Hattiesburg on team owner Zygi Wilf’s 10-seat, Dassault-Breguet Falcon 50 jet to try and persuade Brett Favre to return for a 20th NFL season. “We told him how much all the guys loved playing with him and that we would love to do it again,” said Hutchinson, a Pro Bowl offensive guard. “We also told him that if he didn’t want to do it, then congratulations, you deserve it; you’ve had an incredible career. But we’ve got to know one way or another.”

  They spent the night at Favre’s house, grilling steaks, touring the property, weighing the pros and cons. The players knew Favre didn’t love playing for Childress, but assured him the coach was a marginalized presence. The offense didn’t belong to Brad Childress. It belonged to Brett Favre. “We spilled our guts,” Longwell said.

  The next day Favre agreed to come back, and he returned with his three teammates aboard Wilf’s jet to rejoin the Vikings and chase a Super Bowl. He said all the right things to the media about being excited and refreshed. But, deep down, this wasn’t right. Favre had always been drawn by his love for football. Now, he was being drawn by the guilt of not wanting to disappoint teammates.

  It resulted in one of the worst years of his life.

  First, the Vikings had peaked. Favre expressed brashness in the lead-up to the September 9 opener at (of all teams) New Orleans, saying that, “I feel as confident as I did this time last year—maybe even more confident.” It was terribly misplaced. Minnesota was one of the NFL’s older teams, and whatever magic was present in 2009 no longer existed. They lost 14–9 to the Saints in a game as dispiriting as it was boring, and Favre (who went 15 of 27 for 171 yards, a touchdown, and an interception) tossed repeated inaccurate passes. The next week was even worse—a 14–10 home setback against the mediocre Dolphins, followed by a victory against lowly Detroit and the bye week.

  Second, there was Brett Favre’s penis. Yes, you have read that correctly: Brett Favre’s penis. On August 4, 2010, Deadspin.com, the popular sports-gossip website, ran the headline BRETT FAVRE ONCE SENT ME COCK SHOTS: NOT A LOVE STORY. The accompanying piece, written by A. J. Daulerio, told the alleged saga of Jenn Sterger, a former in-house sideline reporter for the New York Jets best known for being the sexy Florida State football fan who wound up posing for Playboy and Maxim. According to the Deadspin article, when Favre was playing for the Jets he repeatedly hit on her via voice messages, then texted a photograph of his penis. Wrote Daulerio: “And it happened multiple times. In fact, Sterger claims that, in one of the photos Favre allegedly sent her, he’s masturbating—while wearing a pair of Crocs. In another photo, Favre is holding his penis while wearing the wristwatch he wore during his first teary-eyed retirement press conference.”

  Although the story received a fair amount of attention, it was largely marginalized. Deadspin was eyed skeptically by mainstream media outlets, and this felt more like juvenile yellow nonsense than legitimate material. That changed, though, on the morning of October 7. The Vikings were scheduled to play the Jets on Monday Night Football in four days, marking Favre’s first time facing his old team, and Deadspin celebrated the return with another Daulerio offering, headlined BRETT FAVRE’S CELLPHONE SEDUCTION OF JENN STERGER. Unlike the previous article, this one was accompanied by a video that presented a timeline of the Favre–Sterger nonrelationship, plus audio recordings of two cell phone messages the quarterback left for the reporter, as well as three penis pictures—confirmed by a friend to be the official member of Brett Favre.* A whopping 6.2 million people viewed the segment, and when asked for comment Favre neither confirmed nor denied the account’s accuracy. “I’m not getting into that,” he said. “I’ve got my hands full with the Jets.”

  The story was gossipy and juvenile. Mostly, it was pathetic. A mere six months earlier, Favre had become a grandfather. Not only was Sterger just five years older than Brittany, but she bore a striking resemblance to a young Deanna Tynes. The NFL issued a statement saying it would review the Deadspin report, and the Jets directed all questions to a public relations firm. Daulerio was 100 percent certain of the content. He said one former Packers player looked at the images and said, “I showered next to Brett for years. That’s his dick.”

  Favre was lost as to how to handle the situation. According to a family friend, when the initial Deadspin report broke in August, he told Deanna that it was nonsense. Once the photographs and voice messages surfaced, there was no denying the truth. Favre attempted to come up with excuses, alibis, explanations—but there were none. That was his voice and his penis and his hand holding his penis. “That whole experience was the lowest I’d ever seen him,” said a friend. “It was just so humiliating.”

  Shortly after the story ran, Deanna appeared on Good Morning America to promote a new book. Robin Roberts told her beforehand that, journalistically, she had to ask about the photographs. “I can tell you that obviously, I’m a woman of faith,” Deanna said on the air. “Faith has got me through many difficult struggles and it will get me through this one. I’m handling this through faith, Robin.”

  Off camera, Deanna Favre was devastated. She had stood by her husband through drug addiction, through serial infidelity. He had grown and matured, she believed, from a wannabe frat boy to a responsible adult, and she genuinely thought their relationship to be one that, through hard times, was stronger than ever.

  And now millions of people were looking at his penis.

  “You could see the hurt on Brett, and I’m sure that extended to his entire family,” said Ben Leber, the Vikings linebacker. “He came back when he probably really didn’t want to, we weren’t a good team—and then he had the Sterger stuff. At his core, you could tell he was hurting. But there wasn’t anything we could do.”

  Much like the way Magic Johnson’s 1991 HIV announcement caused professional athletes to reconsider their sexual habits, the Favre images hit home throughout NFL locker rooms. “Dick pics” (as they’re colloquially known) were an increasingly normal way for players to hit on women. “If anything, what that story did for me was make me a dick merchant,” said Daulerio. “Anyone who had a photo of a celebrity dick seemed to send it my way.”r />
  A couple of days after the article came out, Favre again asked Childress to let him speak to the team. This time, without getting into specifics, he apologized for the distraction. “It wasn’t helpful, that scandal,” said Childress. “He was really bothered by that, and he was focused on trying to save his marriage. I mean, we’re going to New York City right after it comes out, the worst place for him to be.”

  The Vikings fell to the Jets, 29–20, then lost four of their next six games to kill any hopes of a return to the playoffs. If the sexting scandal was the biggest problem of the awful season, a close second was the Favre-influenced acquisition of wide receiver Randy Moss from the New England Patriots. Ever since he was a Packer, Favre had been itching to play with Moss, who spent the first 12 years of his career becoming one of the most dominant players in NFL history and simultaneously establishing a reputation as a moody, selfish dog. Moss was a Viking from 1998 until 2004, and Favre begged Rick Spielman, the vice president of player personnel, to bring him back. When New England accepted the offer of a third-round pick, Moss was again in Minnesota. “This is an exciting move,” Favre raved. “It’s rare you get to play with a future Hall of Famer.”

  That giddiness lasted for a solid two days. Moss met with Childress, assured him he had matured and, at age 33, was appreciative of what it meant to be a Viking. “I was thinking, ‘This can be really great,’” said Childress. “He seems really happy. Boy, was I wrong about that one.”

  Most Fridays following practices the team furnished a meal catered by various local establishments. On the afternoon of Friday, October 29, Moss entered the locker room, took a plate, and loaded up on the chicken, pasta, and ribs prepared by Tinucci’s Restaurant and Catering. “What the fuck!” Moss yelled. “Who ordered this crap? I wouldn’t feed this to my dog!”

  According to Gus Tinucci, co-owner of the business, Favre gave Moss a stare of utter contempt. “If Favre would have had a ball, he would have beaned him right in the head,” Tinucci said. “Favre looked at him like, ‘Are you kidding me?’”

  When Moss wasn’t complaining about the food, he was complaining—with Favre—about the coach. Neither man liked or respected Childress, and both believed the team would be better served without him. They routinely compared notes, laughed about his incompetence, itched for the moment he would be gone. One day, when Vikings owner Zygi Wilf walked through the locker room, Moss looked at him and hissed, “You need to get rid of the fucking coach.” Wilf was horrified. What happened to the glory of 2009? Where was his Super Bowl contender? “Randy destroyed our team,” said one Viking. “He just destroyed us.”

  Following a 28–18 loss to the Patriots, Moss used the postgame as an opportunity to take to the podium and question Childress’s decision making while praising his former coach, Bill Belichick. He was released a day later, but then, on November 22, Childress was fired and replaced by Leslie Frazier, the defensive coordinator. Nothing helped. The Vikings fell at home to the Packers, 31–3, on November 21, and as Favre played terribly, Aaron Rodgers lit up the Minnesota defense. Three weeks later, in a perfectly symbolic moment, the Metrodome’s inflated roof collapsed during a snowstorm, and the Giants–Vikings game was moved to Detroit’s Ford Field. Favre was recovering from a sprained right shoulder, and Bernard Berrian tweeted, “Joke goin round is Gods Tryin to preserve Bretts streak record.”

  Alas, it was not to be. Frazier placed Favre on the inactive list, and his streak of 297 consecutive starts came to an end. Because the Vikings were terrible and Favre was in the midst of his worst season, the conclusion of his record run failed to garner the sort of attention Cal Ripken Jr. generated in 1998 when he sat after 2,632 straight games. It was, largely, a footnote to the weirdness of a Vikings home game played in Michigan. “The whole thing is bizarre,” said Pete Bercich, the team’s radio analyst. Favre stood on the sideline, wearing a wool Vikings cap, watching the action, advising Jackson in yet another defeat. “None of it seemed right,” said Jensen. “You hate seeing legends go out like that.”

  No. What you hate is seeing legends go out as Favre did a week later, when he returned for a home game against the Chicago Bears. He had initially been ruled out, and a rookie, Joe Webb, was named the starter. But come December 20, Favre somehow jogged out onto the field at the University of Minnesota’s TCF Bank Stadium in full pads and uniform, ready to begin a new streak. By now the Vikings were 5-8, and there was no logical reason for a battered, fossilized quarterback to continue. Yet pride had been Brett Favre’s signature for so long, and now it was his weakness. Chicago jumped out to an early lead, and was up 10–7 when, with 11:32 left in the second quarter, the Vikings faced third and 4 from the Bears 48. Immediately before the play Julius Peppers, the star pass rusher, sprinted to the sideline with an injury. His backup, a rookie from Northwestern named Corey Wootton, wasn’t paying attention, and the team had to burn a time-out. Rod Marinelli, the Bears’ defensive coordinator, lit into Wootton. “Get the fuck on the field,” he snarled, “and make something happen!”

  When play resumed, the six-foot-seven, 280-pound Wootton read the count perfectly, bulldozed over left tackle Bryant McKinnie, grabbed Favre (who took the snap from the shotgun), twirled him around like a dishrag, and slammed his body—and head—into the frozen ground. It was Wootton’s first career sack, and he leapt up, pumped his fists, and started to celebrate before looking back. The quarterback was motionless. “Favre’s lying there in pain,” Wootton said. “I was immediately disappointed. It’s never been my goal to hurt people. And Brett Favre—there was nobody I admired more. So, no, sacking him didn’t make me feel good.”

  Said Mike Tirico, calling the game for ESPN, “You wonder if that will be the play that ends Brett Favre’s career.”

  There wasn’t much wondering—it was the play that ended Brett Favre’s career. Eric Sugarman, the Vikings trainer, leaned over the downed quarterback and said, “Come with me.”

  “Why are the Bears here?” Favre replied as he rose. His first two steps were toward the Chicago sideline. In the locker room he showered, ate a hot dog, and sipped from a cup of hot chocolate. He was diagnosed with a concussion, and deactivated for the last two games. His final statistics (11 touchdowns, 19 interceptions) accurately depicted his play. “It’s a terrible way to end,” said Frazier. “I wanted him to have one last moment, where he could come onto the field, have the fans show their appreciation, get that final round of applause. But there wasn’t really a final round of applause. He got hurt, he left, it ended.”

  A pause.

  “With athletes, that’s sort of how it goes,” Frazier said. “It ends ugly. Even for gunslingers.”

  Afterword

  BACK IN 2010, when Brett Favre took his last NFL snap, a presumption among many was that the 41-year-old quarterback would struggle with retirement. There was a reason, the thinking went, that he kept coming back, then coming back again, and again, and again. Playing football was a lifeline for him, and without the action he would be lost.

  Yet one person who saw things differently was Scott Favre, Brett’s older brother. That final miserable season as a Viking, he believes, was as important as the Super Bowls. “Had he not played that year, he always would have thought, ‘What would have happened had I gone back?’” Scott Favre said. “It didn’t work out, and that sealed the deal for him. He was like, ‘It’s time to retire. I’m ready. I’m tired. I’m done.’ He needed an ending, and had he not played, people would have said, ‘Man, the Vikings could have won a Super Bowl with you.’ That would have eaten at him. But that last year was terrible. He needed terrible to be able to walk away.”

  As with many athletes, once the vanishing act began, it progressed quickly. Favre had no desire to serve as an announcer, or a studio analyst, or to walk the sidelines as somebody’s quarterbacks coach. He didn’t want to be a Packers ambassador, or a Vikings ambassador, or work in the front office as some sort of player personnel guru. Even at the end of his career, with graying hair and
a worn-down body, Favre remained the kid in sandals, shorts, and a T-shirt, three days’ worth of scruff covering his cheeks. He knew an off-the-field job would likely entail either meeting regularly with the press or wearing some sort of suit-tie-slacks combo. No, thank you. Furthermore, he had little desire to be put in the position of criticizing players. In 2011 he made some disparaging comments about Aaron Rodgers, and they went off like a stink bomb. Nobody enjoys hearing old fogies tell youngsters how to do their jobs. Favre realized this quickly.

  Truly, what he genuinely aspired to do was nothing—or at least his version of nothing. Initially, he sat around the house and ate. Then ate some more. And a little more. He gained 25 pounds in his first year away from the game, following the well-worn path of thousands of ex-jocks no longer obligated to daily workouts. He entered a 5K race in 2011, walked most of the course, and finished in 48 minutes (by comparison, an in-his-prime Alberto Salazar could have lapped him three and a half times in that span). It was an embarrassing eye-opener, one that resulted in the old quarterback taking up running and cycling. On family trips, he began to rise at the crack of dawn to go for an anonymous trot along city streets and country trails. No, it didn’t have the intensity of a fourth and 7 against the Bears. But he didn’t want that.

  At home, away from helmets and pads, Favre seemed to realize how much football had taken from his family. Brittany, his 22-year-old daughter, was now Brittany Favre-Mallion—married to a British man, Alex (who knew nothing about the NFL), and attending Loyola University’s College of Law, and his grandson Parker turned 1 in April. Breleigh, meanwhile, was emerging as one of Mississippi’s elite youth volleyball players (in 2012 she would make the Oak Grove High varsity team as an eighth grader). Throughout his career, Brett appeared, disappeared, attended, missed, appeared for a few minutes. He would be interviewed about his kids, and speak as a proud papa, but Deanna (and Deanna’s mother, Ann Byrd, who lives in a separate home on the property), did most of the child rearing. Brett sorta knew how to change diapers and warm bottles and cook family dinners—but it had never been a regular thing, because football called.